


Demon Love Song

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s12e09 First Blood, F/M, Sad, i think i wrote this to hurt myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9485366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: He kisses her anyway, desperate, and they don’t match. They’ve never matched, they never will, no one will ever understand, he won’t. She might not.But it feels right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think I literally am just writing random sad shit now to just to hurt myself XD But, i wanted to address this, even if just for my own sake.
> 
> And I totally lowkey ship this, so i know this is sad and short and doesn't have a happy ending, but maybe I'll write something to justify my cold, numb actions...
> 
> Anyways, enjoy (if you can).
> 
> [Title from White Demon Love Song by The Killers, because that song is the shit] :3

Only a few demons knew, but Crowley wasn’t hiding it.

He didn’t feel shame or embarrassment, and even if he did he would have no reason to.

This being, this woman, this _reaper_ … She was so unlike the rest of the dull, numb faces that couldn’t make a simple joke or understand sarcasm.

She breathed it and made it her own, as she did with him.

This vessel wasn’t anything wonderful, nothing bulk or strong or desirable, but he knew how to be exactly what she wanted, move just how she needed him to.

But he wasn’t the dominant one in this… Partnership, as he probably should call it.

Crowley wasn’t quite accustomed to being manhandled on his own throne, in a black silk bed, being taken by her without any mercy. There were no polite words or hushed tones, at least… Not at first.

She hissed in his ear, gripped at his coat, never let him be on top because she wasn’t anything like the rest, no…

Nobody was like her.

They shared other interests besides heated passion.

Their dislike of the Winchesters, for example. Even though Crowley is somewhat fond of those idiots, she has raised her opinion of them to one of almost hate.

She wanted them, their souls, to be the one to throw them into an unforgiving darkness they could never come back from.

Sometimes she stopped by Hell for a quick release, and then proceeded to push him away from the thrown and dole out her own punishments to the terrified demons kneeling at her feet, begging.

God, he wanted her.

It was uncommon, but seeing her walk away, adjusting her leather jacket, not even looking back to see him clean up his own mess… He could have begged her himself.

The King of Hell, wishing to beg… Imagine that.

He is sitting in the same throne they first divulged in, sipping at a dip of whiskey, bored as some unnamable misfit reads off of some all-important list when another comes sprinting in, eyes wild in both fear and a sort of grief.

“She’s… She’s dead, sir.”

There was no heart to be broken, but he pauses and stares, frozen for just a few seconds.

He sets down his glass, the liquid sloshing over the edges.

“And?” He chokes out, leaning forward and shooting daggers at the thing cowering in front of him.

“I thought… you would want to know.”

“And why would that thought cross your mind?”

“Because…” The demon glances over at the other, who doesn’t show any sign of emotion. “I don’t know, sir.”

“ _Exactly_. Leave.” He flicks his hand towards the doors, gritting his teeth. “NOW. _BOTH OF YOU_.”

They hurry out and the door slams shuts and everything is silent.

He rips his glass up and swallows the remains before flinging it at the concrete wall, fist clenching, jaw shaking.

If he could feel anything…

Then he would be feeling the way he does now.

Lost.

His humanity is speaking, pulsing through his blood like a disease, which it is, _a goddamn disease_ that is making him yell and throw scrolls and punch walls until his fist, unfeeling, is a bloody gorge.

 

“You don’t truly believe that lying thief, do you?”

From the ground, Crowley looks up through white and black and blood, taking in a sharp breath.

Billie looks down at him with that same smug expression, lips curved up darkly.

“ _You_ —the bloody hell!?” Crowley pulls himself up, tripping on his own feet. He sways before gripping her arms, her brown jacket smooth, cool to the touch. “I thought you were dead!”

“Yeah, because I’m that foolish.” She doesn’t move out of his grasp, and that’s when he knows.

But he kisses her anyway, desperate, and they don’t match. They’ve never matched, they never will, no one will ever understand, he won’t. She might not.

But it feels right.

Holding a cold body with no pulse, kissing lips that aren’t looking for him, or anyone for that matter, who wouldn’t hesitate at holding a beating heart, ripping through someone with pride and a haunting laugh.

With a sharp inhale, Billie pries him away, but keeps her dark hands on his face, nails smoothing over his stubble. “I guess I was wrong to think of you as anything but a needy sap.”

Crowley growls, but he looks away, because when it comes to her, it’s true.

“You don’t know me,” he says.

“Not at all…” Her smile is sly and he closes his eyes as she kisses him again, lips moving to his cheek, hands leaving him.

She’s gone when he opens his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> R.I.P Billie...
> 
> :( 
> 
> You weren't my favorite character ever... but you were hot and cold and cruel and I was intrigued by you.
> 
> You and Crowley belonged together.


End file.
